The Social Life of the Sociopathic Teenager
by highlyfashionablesociopath
Summary: high school Sherlock AU because i love those ok anywho Sherlock is the snobby kid who gets dententions for being a smartass and has literally no friends until he meets the new student John Watson and a friendship ensues wow how cliché is that ok um rated T cuz im paranoid for later chapters ok and most of these teachers are based off of mine hahah r&r appreciated ty ty
1. A Study in Deduction

Busy. Crowded. _Boring._

Sherlock Holmes strided down the hallways, looking for the classroom that his schedule marked as 221B. He quickly analyzed every person which he had clumsily bumped into on the way.

_Group of football players, obvious by the letterman jackets and athletic builds; oh look, one of them had been shagging one of the cheerleaders last night, the way they looked at each other and the cologne rubbed practically all over themselves made it painfully obvious; a group of druggies, distinguished by the specific smell of tobacco and marijuana that surrounded them._

All of these deductions were so typical and _boring_ coming from his peers. Not a single one of them had anything too extraordinary about them, causing Sherlock to turn his attention back to gazing at every room number he passed by.

220C. He was almost there.

At last, he came to his homeroom at 221B. It was the start of a new, surely boring, school year. He cast a swift glance at the teacher. Short, slightly plump figure with graying black hair and squinty eyes and thickly-framed glasses who looked to be about in his mid- to late-40's. He appeared to have just recently been divorced by his wife, judging by the still-fading mark of a wedding ring on his finger. They were married for a reasonably long time then, for it must have been on his finger for a few good years without ever being removed prior to the divorce to leave such a mark. By the looks of his cheap and old clothes, she must have taken most of the money, if not all. How boring.

He looked behind the teacher at the smartboard, which had "Mr. Canaday" as well as the seating arrangements for the class sprawled across in lazy and sloppy handwriting. Sherlock's name was next to a John H. Watson. What an incredibly typical name. He rolled his eyes and sat down in the coordinated seat, tapping his fingers impatiently on his desk.

Classroom 221B was located in the science wing, much to Sherlock's content. Chemistry equipment and telescopes crowded the back of the room. He would certainly be using those later. A few seconds after the bell rang to start introductions and obligatory speeches every teacher had to give to their homeroom classes at the start of every year, a handsome, out of breath face came bursting through the door. He had sandy brown hair, a strong build, attractive hazel eyes, and wore a relatively nice jumper.

"I'm so sorry for being late. This school is like a maze," said the boy in the door way. He smiled apologetically at the teacher and glanced at the board behind, looking at the seating arrangements just as Sherlock did before. He mouthed the words "Sherlock Holmes" and gave a look of curiosity. Obviously one with such the typical name of John Watson had never heard of a name like Sherlock Holmes.

The typical-named John Watson looked over at the untypical-named Sherlock Holmes and gave a genuine smile. He was actually rather charming, Sherlock had to admit that much at least. A good look at the newcomer let him know that he came from a fairly poor family(the posh-looking jumper looked to be the only expensive piece of clothing he owned), had a relative or a friend that was an alcoholic(worry lines shown on his face, he looked like he had recently been lecturing someone on something morally-based, also concludes that he has high moral standards and doesn't approve of massive consumption of alcohol and drugs), probably planned to join the military(like his father; his haircut told him that he was a man with at least an interest in military, or at least had a parent that was. It would seem natural for this typical boy to pursue in his father's footsteps, especially considering the fact that his family was probably too poor to afford a full scholarship to a good college– military seemed a likely choice). Yet somehow, behind those incredibly dull deductions, Sherlock found something he was unexplainably attracted to. Whether it be those dazzling eyes that showed he was someone to be trustingly loyal, or the smile that seemed to reach up to those dazzling eyes.

Whatever it was, Sherlock put away any thought of this new found interest.

"John Watson. Hi. Looks like we'll be sitting next to each other for the year."

He reached out his hand to Sherlock, attempting in the typical meeting ritual of a handshake.

Sherlock glanced upwards at the boy, debating whether or not to partake.

Eventually, he grunted and grasped the other's hand, giving it a firm shake.

"Sherlock Holmes. So it would seem."

"You know, Sherlock is a pretty interesting name. I've never heard anything quite like it."

"Yes."

It was obvious to John that his new acquaintance wasn't much for small talk. Oh well. Maybe he would warm up to him later in the year.

Suddenly, Mr. Canaday drew the attention up front, holding up his hand to silence the few boys in the back that had been talking obnoxiously loud the entire time.

_Oh boy, here it comes, _Sherlock sighed heavily. The beginning of the year pep talks were always the most boring part of the most boring first day of boring school.

"Alright, everyone. Quiet. Now, I know you're all new to the high school this year, but it's not as bad as everyone makes it out to be. I'm sure some of you might have heard rumors of endless amounts of homework, and the cliché cliques, and the nasty teachers that'll bite your head off from older siblings and friends and movies."

A few people in the class chuckled.

"I can assure you now that none of that is true. I don't have many rules in this class, especially during homeroom, other than don't throw things and try not to hurt anyone. Oh, and no fooling around with lab equipment. I'm sure you'll find me more of a friend than a teacher, I hope." He looked rather smitten with himself, looking over each new face.

"Now, I'll skip the 'work hard, don't do drugs, stay in school' lecture that all the other homerooms have the unluckiness of hearing for the 9th time in their lives. All I have to say to that is at least try to keep your grades up to pass this grade."

A few more chuckles.

Sherlock and John both raised eyebrows. For a teacher, he was quite relaxed, much to the contrast of most of the teachers they had the displeasure of having before.

"Now, I'll begin role. Anderson?"

A nasal-sounding "here" come from the back of the room. Sherlock glanced back at the source. He was thin, scrawny, and the face of a weasel. His hair looked greasy, whether it be natural grease from not washing his hair or over-excessive amount of product, Sherlock couldn't distinctly tell at this distance.

Mr. Canaday checked his name off. "Donovan?"

"Present," said a girl's voice. She was actually rather pretty, with a slender figure, tan skin, and messy brown hair. She was sitting next to the weasel-faced Anderson. A look of disgust appeared on Sherlock's face. They'd been snogging before the bell rang.

Sherlock looked helplessly up at the clock, waiting to hear his own name. Thirty minutes of homeroom left. Wonderful.

At last, he heard his name.

"Holmes?"

"Here," he said indifferently.

He zoned out again, glancing this time at his typical-named acquaintance's schedule. Advanced academic English I, advanced academic biology, physical education(rotated every other day with a study hall), algebra I, advanced academic American history, lunch, French I, and technological education. Mostly advanced classes. A smirk tugged at Sherlock's lips. Maybe he had underestimated the intelligence of the sandy-haired-typical-named-boy. Then again, the school's "advanced" classes weren't much to be impressed by. He glanced down at his own schedule, comparing which classes they had together: biology, history, lunch, and French. So it looked like he would be spending some time with this kid. Oh well. Better than Weaselface.

John caught site of Sherlock's gaze, and couldn't help but smile a bit.

"Looks like we've got some classes together, huh Sherlock?" He whispered.

"Hm? Ah, yes. I suppose so," replied Sherlock, with a slightly louder whisper.

"You're taking advanced calculus, though? That's incredible, Jesus Christ."

"You could say that." A smug look crossed his face. Even though he knew how much a genius he was, it was always nice to have someone remind him of it.

It seemed ages before any of them said anything more, but John eventually broke the silence once more.

"Hey um, would you like to sit with me at lunch? I'm new to the school district, so I don't really have any other friends." He looked embarrassed down at his desk.

_Other _friends? Does that mean that John had already classified him as a friend? How quaint.

What Sherlock wanted to say was no, but he was surprised to hear himself say "sure."

They both sat there for a moment, not knowing what else to say.

At last the bell rang to be dismissed to first period. Sherlock was also surprised to find himself looking forward to the classes he would have to spend with his new friend-acquaintance.

Maybe this year wouldn't be so boring after all.


	2. A Study in Annoyance

John hurriedly made his way out of the science wing and hopelessly tried to find the English wing to no avail. He had to stop to ask directions for his classroom from a hall monitor. After engaging in a brief conversation, he was pointed the way.

Straight ahead, the first room down the hall. Oh. Stupid. Of course.

He thanked the monitor and headed on his way, arriving to class seconds before the bell rang.

He looked around. No seating arrangements as far as he could see. Either the teacher would be assigning them later, or there weren't any. He hoped for the former. At least with assigned seats John would have a chance of making some friends. He ended up sitting in the back of the room, with the students he remembered as Anderson and Donovan occupying the seats in front of him. He happened to overhear a bit of gossip between them.

"…Holmes kid, I swear to God he's a freak. Did you _see_ the classes that he takes?" said the girl, causing the boy to laugh almost too forcedly. It was obvious the two were infatuated, even to John.

"Yeah, I heard he's a catch. I'm also pretty sure he's gay," replied the boy with a look of disgust.

These comments made John on edge. Sherlock didn't seem so bad. Well, they didn't really have a decent conversation yet. He was interesting, certainly, but not bad. He thought about saying something, but the teacher had interrupted them.

"Alright class, today's your first day of high school. It's only going to get more difficult from here on out, and I'll be sure to prepare you for every minute of it. Just because this is an English class, that doesn't mean that it's going to be easy. This is an advanced course, as you should remember."

Groans filled the room.

The teacher, Mrs. Talioni, appeared to be in her early 30's. She was tall, with short obviously dyed blonde hair in a pixie cut and glasses. She held the appearance of a religious woman, with a necklace containing the image of a cross as well as a rosary bracelet around her wrist. She wore a comfortable looking jumper with dress pants. Her voice was irritably high.

"Alright, I'll be taking role now. In the meantime, I want you all to take out your summer reading assignments."

John stared blankly at the female. He was a new student this year, and had not received the assignment yet. He awkwardly raised his hand, causing his teacher to sigh with distaste.

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Talioni, I'm new this year. I never got the assignment." John was sure his cheeks were bright red as he said this. The other gave him an almost pitying look and nodded.

"Alright. You'll be excused from the grade book from it then. What's your name?"

"John Watson, ma'am."

"Thank you. I suppose I should ask if there's anyone else in Mr. Watson's position?"

She gazed around the room, hoping that no hands would shoot up and she could just right away dive into her lesson. A few did. She sighed again.

"Very well. I'll get to know your names after we take role, so I'll mark you all as excused then."

A few sounds of relief filled the room, some of which had been lazy students who forgot to do their summer work and lied saying they never got the assignment before vacation.

Mrs. Talioni then began drawling on, complaining about how students should come more prepared for class, then started taking role. Anderson's and Donovan's names were called first again.

After the two were checked off, they turned around to talk to John.

"Hey, you're the kid who got stuck sitting with Freak during homeroom, right? I feel bad for you, mate," the tan girl started, followed by a pitying nod from both.

John tried not to frown. He didn't see anything wrong with Sherlock. Or why these two didn't like him.

"Sorry but, what could he have possibly done to set you two off so badly? He didn't seem all that bad when I talked with him. A bit of a funny bloke, I'll admit. But from what I could tell he seemed alright," said John a bit more coldly than he intended.

Another pitying nod.

"Look, I'm not going to go in to great detail, but that kid is a psychopath. I always see him reading newspaper and magazine articles about dead bodies and stuff. Probably a necrophiliac as well," Anderson chuckled. Donovan nudged him in the shoulder.

"I'm going to give you a bit of advice and tell you to stay away from that guy."

John looked them over with disbelief. They can't be serious. Can they?

"Why?"

"Because he's a psychopath, and psychopaths get bored. I bet one day we'll all be standing around a dead body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one that put it there," said Donovan, causing another chuckle out of Anderson.

John sighed.

"Look, I don't understand how you two can tell me who to hang out with when I don't even know your first names."

The two passed glances, smiling weakly.

"I'm Sally Donovan. This is my boyfriend, Gillian Anderson."

"Gill for short," he added, with a punch to Sally's shoulder. He smiled at her, and they stayed there staring at each other's faces making John feel uncomfortable.

"I'm uh, John Watson," he coughed, trying to break the awkward silence.

The couple blinked, turning their attention back to John, and smiled at him.

"Yeah, we know. Man, you missed out a lot last year. The football team started a food fight, if you can believe it. It was hilarious. Everyone came out of the school cafeteria smelling like greasy food and ranch dressing," Sally laughed.

"Oh God, and I'll never forget the disgusted look on Freak's face whenever it started. He literally stood up and called everyone a 'bloody imbecile' and stormed out. He almost got hit with a tray-full of mashed potatoes," replied Gill, "I threw it at him."

John snorted at the mental image. Maybe these guys weren't so bad either. A bit scornful maybe, but not so bad. He wondered what Sherlock thought about these two.

Suddenly, their attention was drawn back to the front of the room. The class phone was ringing, interrupting the role count. Mrs. Talioni said something about how back when she was in school, there was no such need for phones, and reluctantly answered it.

"Mr. H? Ah yes, I'll send him right down," she hung up and looked around the room. Her eyes stopped on John.

"John Watson, you're wanted in the principal's office."

A few sarcastic "ooooooh's" came from various places in the room. Mrs. Talioni quickly hushed them up.

John packed up his books with a dumbfounded expression. What could he have possibly done to be sent down there? It was only his first day. He sighed, heading out the door and down the stairs and into the first office on the left. He knocked, heard a muffled "come in," and opened the door. He was surprised to find not the principal, but a senior student in the principal's chair. John recognized him from flyers around the school that he was the senior class president.

"John Watson, please do sit down." The student's voice was so smooth and yet so harsh, giving him an air of poshness about him for a student in a public high school.

John cleared his throat, looking over the upperclassman. He wore a suit, neatly pressed. His hair was combed back, and he had very distinct features. Something about him looked vaguely familiar.

Hesitantly, he sat down in the seat across from him. He wondered what the senior class president could possibly want with a freshman to call him down to the principal's office.

"How are you, Mr. Watson? You're finding your way well in this school, I hope." He gave a small fake grin and looked at John with those eyes that could make someone want to strangle him.

John looked around the room and coughed.

"Good. Yes, very good. Now, why did you call me down here?"

The fake grin widened a bit into a satisfied smirk.

"Not one to beat around the metaphorical bush, I see. Very well. Pardon my asking, but what is your connection with Sherlock Holmes?"

John was taken aback. He literally _just_ met the kid only the period before and already everyone was asking him to stay away.

"I don't have one. I've only met him last period."

"Yes, and since last period you're planning to sit at lunch with him and spend your classes together. I expect a happy announcement by the end of the week."

This guy was really starting to rub John the wrong way.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I worry about him. Constantly." The smirk faded, only for a moment, into a genuine look of sadness. John raised an eyebrow.

"And why would a senior worry about a freshman?"

There was no reply to John's question, only the return of the irritating smirk. The senior took out a file and began shifting through papers.

"Trust issues, it says here. Could it be you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes, of all people?"

John's raised eyebrow joined the other in a frown.

"Who are you? I'm assuming you're his friend."

The elder laughed and set the file down.

"A friend? You've met him. How many friends do you imagine he has? I'm probably the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having. An enemy," he raised his hand to silence John, who was about to cut him off. "In his mind, certainly. He might even call me his 'archenemy.' He does love to be dramatic."

John had enough of this. He was about to stand up and walk away, when the other stopped him.

"I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him. That is, however, entirely up to you. Good day, Mr. Watson."

"Huh, good day indeed," he mumbled. This was going to be a very interesting school year, to say the least.


End file.
